Background: This is... a really weird tiny piece that is somehow based on The Tea Party's "Heaven Coming Down". I'd been obsessing over the possibilities of Advent Children, the whole Sombracorp.com "thing" (only the Tower fans will ken that, I suspect), and had plenty of sleep deprivation... so all that might have something to do with it. I have no other explanation. Enjoy.
Heaven Coming Down
by Orin Drake
Freedom, at last. More
importantly... another chance. Or so he'd chosen to tell himself.
The ocean was swelling underneath
the gray sky, rushing against the shore as though it thought it would actually
get somewhere. So funny. It sort of reminded him of himself,
once upon a time. He never got all that far, either. It would
have been terribly depressing were he not so expectant.
Ah, but he would see his
love again today. Not everyone had been destroyed, back then... but
perhaps most things should have been.
How dare he think that.
Not proper, that was certain. Nevertheless... some things may change,
and others stagnate and stay as they are.
Would he be remembered?
It hadn't been that long, time-wise (at least not on the side upon
which he was walking now), but he wondered. In many respects, it
was as if a new world had taken over, erasing or clouding the old one in
such a way as to almost erase it.
He wasn't really sure what
to wish for, truth be told. He wanted to tell himself that there
was no reason to be concerned, nothing to worry about... but he remembered
the past. Very well. Others may not remember it as he did.
Time and stories could have taken their toll. And, admittedly, there
were things that could easily be remembered in a... sour light.
Long ago, he'd known heartache.
It hadn't been his doing, nor his control--but he knew it as closely as
any lover. It was soul sickness, soon after. And then, when
it all came to an "end"... there had been as much sadness as peace.
His love had been there, he recalled. Some details were only fuzzy
because he wished them to be, forced them to stay that way. He could
not fathom going through them again; he'd already done that for what seemed
like centuries, buried in a heavy nothing of darkness.
He rather felt like crying
out to the ocean, just to see if it would shout anything back. Maybe
comfort... Crouching on the sand, watching the whitecaps find their
way to his feet, he pondered another thing. Perhaps this is what
some prisoners felt like; incarcerated for so long that, sooner or later,
they simply gave up the fight. (Of course, deep down, he knew better.)
Was that rage burning at
the edges of his apathetic energy? Was he even capable of that much
any longer? Hard to say, harder to know. As much as some things
changed...
It would not rest.
His heart burned too much to stay away. There were things left unfinished...
and he understood more than ever that he could not simply let them be.
This second chance was a blessing. And because of it, he would leave
nothing behind.
Now go back and read it from a "definite perspective" of Sephiroth. Oh come on, it's short. Did the initial read and the second read seem like two different stories? Just curious.